


Sayaka Tells Three Stories With Happy Endings

by TaraSamadhi



Series: Love and Adventure in the Homura-verse [8]
Category: Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Genre: Alternate Universe, Childbirth, Comedy, Cosplay, Drama, Engagement, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Happy Ending, Het, Music, Parenthood, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Psychic Bond, Self-Acceptance, Self-Hatred, Self-Sacrifice, Sexual Humor, True Love, Unplanned Pregnancy, Yuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 06:33:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19312597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaraSamadhi/pseuds/TaraSamadhi
Summary: Sayaka tells three side-stories running the gamut from farcical to intense, with various happy endings:1. PenaltyHomura annoyingly refuses to let Sayaka forgive the "debts" Homura has racked up due to acts involving Sayaka. Sayaka pressures both Homura and Madoka to make that forgiveness happen, by exposing a serious bedroom secret of theirs.2. HelplessSayaka is completely and embarrassingly in love with Kyouko.3. ScoreMami is giving birth to the octuplets she and Kyousuke made the night Madoka and Homura finally went for it, inundating the world in aphrodisiac energy. Scene; the hospital. Octuplet births are dangerous and rarely work out well, so everyone is worried. Kyousuke has to leave Mami's room, terrified about the possibility of losing her, and has a violent identity crisis that ends up in renewed love with Mami and fatherhood of their new children.





	Sayaka Tells Three Stories With Happy Endings

SAYAKA TELLS THREE STORIES

1\. Penalty

I have no definite idea why Akemi Homura, the most morose demon bitch queen of all demon bitch queens, draws me into urgent demon bitch queen matters. 

She doesn’t like me. The only thing that keeps her from giving in and openly hating me is, as always, the fact that I am Madoka’s oldest friend. I enjoy trolling and teasing Homura because she has no sense of humor and that’s really funny, but no love flows her way from this direction, either.

My guess is that this way, she can leak serious news without troubling Madoka. Chances are also good that she comically thinks since I share the knowledge, I’ll share the blame. Truth be told, Homura created this reality all of us are living in off and on, because she just got worn out at a certain point trying to cover for Madoka, who gained divinity while keeping her idiocy. Homura stayed to fight and just got tired.

So, Homura’s gears completely stripped and she went crazy, locking Madoka into a constructed reality cage (a “universe” with some minor flaws) so she could easily watch over her, on working retirement. Kyoko and Mami and I were all vacuumed into that world, to Homura’s puzzled annoyance. We were amnesiac for a while to save Homura trouble, and when we all remembered it worked out pretty well. It’s a pretty good life except for Homura the Demon Creator and me, her unlikely confidante. 

The only problem for poor Homura is that she thought this separated her for good from Madoka, given Madoka’s almost certain eventual awakening to her situation. It’s hard for a demon to explain to a goddess that she has imprisoned her because it’s just too hard to watch over her otherwise, especially when that demon is still head over heels with her talking pink plushie. 

Unexpectedly, Madoka figured it out and realized she was in love with Homura, and their eventual bouts of lovemaking literally alter the structure of reality. It’s not as funny as it sounds. One bout generated vast psychic erotic waves that solved Japan’s population decline crisis by creating a population explosion. A poignant example of their unintended deity sex consequences is Tomoe Mami, our giant-breasted friend, expecting eight children. Madoka and Homura are on Mami’s kill list, now. That is bad. I’ve seen her take people out, and it’s not a pretty sight.

All of this is a roundabout way of explaining why Homura and I, Miki Sayaka, sat together once again where we usually meet, an open-air table on a promenade where the bitch tried to wipe out my memory at the start. I drank cold barley tea and she sipped espresso from a demitasse.

“What is it, Homura?” I asked after we drank our drinks for five minutes or so, without making eye contact.

Homura gave me a dark killer look through narrowed eyes. “Why can’t we just have some time together as friends?”

I laughed. “What are you sarcastic about? I haven’t hugged or kissed you in a long time.”

Apparently, that wasn’t on Homura’s mind, because her face turned pale. “Of all the terrible things that have happened to me, that may be the worst.”

I nodded. “And remember by the rules of that penalty I can do that forever.”

Homura’s humorless face became far less humorous. “Don’t. That’s disgusting.”

“Seriously,” I said, “what is it? Why do you want to talk to me?”

“A couple of things,” Homura said. “First of all, there are the debts I owe you. I’ve mentioned this before.”

I rubbed my eyes. “No debts. I don’t want you indebted to me; it’s a fate worse than death. Whatever debts you think there are, they’re off the ledger. Look. It’s blank.”

Homura shook her head. “I don’t like being beholden to you.”

“Homura, I don’t want you owing me anything. You know what’s worse than when you owe something to the yakuza? It’s when the yakuza owes something to you. Any way you could pay back an obligation to me would be far worse than my just letting it go. So no debts. Poof.”

“It’s not that simple. First, you actually help me out with being angry at Madoka and dealing with the wraiths. Second, you try to help me out and get sucked into a dimensional rift. Third, you save my life. That’s a lot to have hanging over my head.”

I was getting irritable. “Why can’t you just accept those things and not remind me? I was happy to help with the wraiths and save your life, but the dimensional rift thing still really pisses me off.”

“So how do I settle this?”

I studied her. Homura isn’t what you would call a happy person. Owing me was truly troubling her. It was cutting her off from indignation and self-righteousness. But, despite the goth cloud hanging over her head, she didn’t look unhappy. In fact, she looked like a model on break from her fast way up. That day, she wore the kind of weekend clothes a second-year high school girl would wear, tight jeans and a loose white blouse with little spangles on it.

And that leads me to the only thing that deeply annoys me about Homura. It’s her body. She has this killer body. It’s perfect and it makes me mad. A long, lovely throat. Firm growing boobs. Broadish shoulders and a long straight back that tapers perfectly down to an ass that looks like it came from a catalogue. Nice, proportionate hips in some kind of symmetry agreement with her shoulders and shapely legs. Flat, strong belly. All that plus a face that’s growing more beautiful every day and perfect jet-black hair.

Bitch.

Then it popped into my head. Her body showcase.

“That demon thing you wear…” I said.

Homura flushed crimson and muttered something that I could have sworn was “goth napkin.” It couldn’t have been that, though.

“How bad to you have to be before that materializes?” I asked.

Homura held her face in her hands. “I have it around. It doesn’t have to materialize all the time.”

My jaw dropped and I could tell from her convulsive flinch that she knew she had blown it. “You mean you actually have that? My magical girl outfit only appears when I transform.”

She didn’t reply.

“Wait…” I said.

No reply.

“You cosplay with that, don’t you?” I asked

Mortification held her in its grip.

“Wait!” I said. “Do you, like, use that in bed!”

Homura let out a kind of strangled cry of protest.

I was filling with a kind of ecstatic wonder.

“And Madoka, her pink princess ballroom thing…”

Homura was visibly collapsing.

“She has one of those too? So the two of you…”

I started to laugh.

“You cosplay those in bed, don’t you? Do you wear Madoka’s or your own outfit? Does she wear yours? Oh my God, I love this. So she gets to be the demon and you get to be the goddess? Which one calls the shots? Oh, this is great…”

Homura got up to storm away, but I caught her.

“If you want to pay me back, I want your outfit,” I said.

She stared at me, mouth agape. “You can’t…”

“I want one of those,” I said. This was the best moment of my life.

“No way,” she spat.

“Then you have a week to pay me back all those things and I get that as a penalty,” I said. “It’s just cosplay, right? It isn’t the one that wraps around you when your wings come out, right?”

Homura glared at me, clearly wishing she had never spoken to me in her life. “Just wait until you owe me,” she said.

I nodded. “Then I’d have to give up my blue camisole with bears on it.”

 

My flamingo-hued friend was not remotely pleased at the situation.

“Sayaka-chan,” she said, “Homura told me what was going on.”

“All of it?” I asked. “Did she tell you why it’s happening?”

Madoka just looked curious. She was wearing an adorable white sundress and I wanted to hug her and pinch her cheeks.

“Homura didn’t want to let the so-called debts drop,” I said, “so I told her it would all be square if she gave me her demon cosplay outfit. I’ve always wanted one.”

Madoka’s face turned bright red in a fraction of a second.

“I want something to go with it, too,” I said.

Madoka’s eyes widened.

“I want your cosplay outfit, too,” I said. “It would clash with Kyouko’s hair so she’d have to wear Homura’s, but I’d look pretty good in it. We could have a lot of fun.”

A goddess’s wrath was stirring in Madoka’s eyes, but I held my ground. Goddess wrath is a pretty serious thing, but I couldn’t give in.

“What did I ever do to you, Sayaka-chan?” she asked through clenched teeth.

“There’s nothing wrong,” I said, “and it’s easy to fix.”

Madoka stared at me.

“Just tell her to let me forgive the debt,” I said. "She'll listen to you. Then Kyouko and I won't imitate your bed play."

Madoka’s eyebrows went up, then the corners of her mouth went up, then her mouth straightened out in a thin smile, and then her eyes narrowed.

“You’re an evil person, Sayaka-chan,” she said.

“Madoka…”

“Yes, my former lifetime friend Sayaka?”

“Which one do you wear in bed?”

After a couple of minutes of being beaten to a pulp by Madoka’s purse, everything was fine.

*

2\. Helpless

I sat at the dining room table as Kyouko hustled around the stove making rice omelettes, her one dish, food flying everywhere. 

I secretly could not stop watching her. I literally had to remind myself to blink. At that time I watched her for hours the way people watch television, in constant danger that she would catch me looking, grin at me, and turn me into a puddle of smiling lovestruck goo. Everything about her hypnotized me, making me lose my balance as I moved to her movements, leaving me slack-jawed and staring. I was hopeless.

Kyouko was unwittingly dressed like a sex bomb. I’d taken her out to get her some party clothes for a big wrap party at work and she was so happy that I just kept pulling stuff off the rack. Her hair was tied back with a silver chain strung with little ceramic cylinders covered with images of butterflies. Her necklace and bracelets came from the same set. She had on an off-white sleeveless silk blouse and a tight pair of butter-yellow denim Capris with little tie strings at the bottom of each leg. Under each bare- steel-strong ankle was a low, open-toed pump. And she had insisted, for the first time ever, on painting her toenails, this time in exactly the same shade of red as her hair.

I was getting alarmingly turned on. Yeah, her body was setting the outfit on fire, but mainly it was the oddness of it. She never dressed that way, she looked good that way, and most provokingly, she had forgotten to change before she cooked. And her painted toenails kept chiming with her hair. My mind, tottering with idiocy and sideways lust even as it echoed with babbling worship, was not prepared for the next thing.

Kyouko turned around and grinned at me. 

I clapped a hand over my heart. That one nearly killed me.

I literally cannot imagine not loving her. That idea is an absurdity, like a dry ocean. Love has her goofy, grinning, adorable face on it. It has her voice, her laughter, her enchanting kiss that can lift me to the skies or bring me to my knees. Truth be told, back then on Earth if I had turned out to be a normal girl, I think my heart would have been crushed all the time from needing her and longing for her, not knowing why, even if I dated perfectly good guys I liked or even loved. And here I had her. She was all mine. Except that every time I would rise to make that claim, she would grin at me and I would turn into a drooling puddle of goo.

Finally the food was on the table with a couple of Kirin lagers and a big pitcher of iced water. We dug in. Mouth stuffed to where I could barely chew, I made a circle with index finger and thumb and nodded. Kyouko saw me and laughed. I did it again and she laughed again. 

I watched her laugh, lost in her.

*

3\. Score

I’m not sure Mami ever knew about my catastrophic infatuation with Kyousuke. I’m not sure how much anyone remembers, though Kyouko and I have made sure that each of us knows everything about the other. 

Mami told me a story about the two of them, and I’m glad she did. Because somehow out of the “real” world into this strange one Homura cooked up, a life between two people emerged and wisdom came along with it. 

Here’s what Mami told me.

It’s no secret that, due to Homura and Madoka having wild first sex in the form of angelic life forms, the world was inundated with psychic aphrodisiac energy that got some procreation going and the Japan of this world was fully peopled for good in a very short period of time. Babies were essentially popping out all over, which sounds funny unless you’re the one doing the popping. 

Mami and Kyousuke, engaged and living in the strange partition of Homura’s world where some of us live as adults when we’re not high school students, got hit hard. Mami became pregnant with octuplets. Usually, this happens because of test tubes. In this case, of course, some pleasant normal friendly sex became galvanized with extreme sexual energy and their bodies contrived to go a little overboard.

It’s hellishly difficult for one woman to bring eight children into the world. Some die or suffer some kind of terrible problem. Most are under proper birth weight, and some have trouble breathing when they’re out. So if the mother manages to get her children into the world and be okay herself, there’s no way of knowing what the whole thing was for.

Mami is as tough as she’s bodacious. But it was a struggle. About four babies on, she started getting tired and so did the babies. The doctors started talking openly about options, including the world’s most impressive Caesarian. There were a lot of complications there, though. Fact is, what they had was a choice of complications. But Mami the Musket Warrior kept it up. Another two babies emerged, none too pleased, into the world, and the nurses snatched them up. Mami was barely conscious, but she heard fatigued chatter that all the babies were fine so far.

Two more.

Kyousuke, bless his heavy-starch heart, tried to be a modern hero man and be with his love all through it. But when Mami started yelling at him to go away, and the doctors and nurses asked him to, he couldn’t resist. It was like blown out into the corridor by a big wind.

Kyousuke wandered around, from what he told Mami, possibly in the hospital and partially not. He remembered walking down a few streets and through a couple of buildings and possibly through someone’s home. He was blind with terror and confusion. He’s not the most sensitive person to begin with, so the intensity was cataclysmic.

Losing Mami and the children she was fighting to bear clawed at his heart, ripping and tearing it as the blood fought through. Finally, he was back in the hallway outside of the room, vaguely hearing Mami yelling curses at whichever god was on her mind, trying to find a place to put himself, and decided to close himself up in a broom closet that someone had left open. That person screwed up protocol, but they did a favor for Kyousuke, because he sought refuge in that broom closet like it was the loving arms of his mother. He turned off the overhead light and fought his way to the back corner to sit in the dark.

I’m shit, he thought. I’m nothing but shit and have never been anything but shit. What was I thinking in this world. How did I ever have the nerve to love someone when I’m shit. Nothing I’ve done has mattered up until now, and if Mami dies or the babies die nothing will matter again.

The music. What the hell does the music matter? How did it ever matter? he asked himself. Who gives a damn when the bodies of people I love more than life are fighting for life? I hold this piece of wood and look at marks on a page and make noise. And life goes by. And now the woman I love, now something may, something may go, something may go wrong and the woman I love will be gone and all there will be will be a piece of wood and marks on the page.

Kyousuke began sobbing violently in the depths of the closet. Hey, asshole, God, he said. Whoever came up with this idea for me and music and my being a worthless piece of shit in this world that a fantastic woman decided to love.

I don’t want your fucking music.

Take it, you son of a bitch, take it and turn it to the energy and came from and give it to Mami and the babies, you asshole. Take it. I don’t want it. Take it! You fucking asshole, fucking creating me and fucking music and taking the energy away from the woman I love in there.

Take it. Now.

So he calmed down and began to breathe deeply so the hooks could let go. The hooks that held his music in, that fastened it in his soul mind and body, one by one let go. His life as a musician went by with the letting go of her hook and the departure of another wave of music from his life. It hurt, it really hurt. But he knew the energy was going to Mami, he knew it. And as his music finally billowed and disappeared, leaving him a new kind of lonely, he somehow knew that the worst would not happen. When he lifted his face to look at the nurse who finally found him in the closet, he was ready.

The nurse led him into the room where Mami was lying, exhausted, smiling at him. He staggered forward and dropped to his knees by the bed, catching its metal frame before Mami caught his hands and pulled him up.

“They’re all born,” she said.

Kyousuke looked at her.

“They’re all born and they’re all healthy,” she said. “I guess Madoka sent some helpful energy out when she was misbehaving that time. But they are fine. And so am I.”

No, Kyousuke told himself, you don’t have a right to cry.

Mami hummed a melody, one both simple and complex, very beautiful. It sounded like sunlight.

“That came into my mind during the labor,” she said. “It’s been there ever since. Do you like it?”

“Yes,” Kyousuke said, keeping himself in control. He had to stay strong, she was so strong.

“Score it,” she said.

Kyousuke looked up, startled.

“Score it,” she said. “Ten instruments, any combination. Score that melody. That’s what I want.”

Ten instruments.

“Ten people,” Mami smiled. “You, me, and the eight children. All in unison or counterpoint or whatever you want to do.”

Kyousuke nodded. He could do it.

“I felt your music enter me,” Mami said, “toward the end, like it had left you and come to me. It healed me, helped me, gave our children a big push wherever they were so they could go happily into the world. Now take it back.

“Score it.”


End file.
